Assassin's Creed: Tyrannis
by LikeCrimsonBloodshed
Summary: My name is Marcus Junius Brutus. In order to save my city, Everything is Permitted.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello, dear readers!**

**Once again, we embark on a new quest. I was inspired by some Assassin's Creed stories I had been reading lately and I decided I wanted to write one of my own!**

**But I had to pick a subject I felt insatiably curious about. I discovered this topic and it practically wrote itself.**

**Let me first say I don't own Assassin's Creed. Ubisoft does. Also, this is a work of fiction, therefore it will not be entirely historically accurate.**

**I did some extensive research into this to try to make it as historical as possible, but there will obviously be discrepancies.**

**As always, ENJOY and Cheers!**

**-LCB**

* * *

**Rome, Italy**

**1503 AD**

Deep inside the Lair of Romulus, where only torchlight prevailed and little sound existed, the Master Assassin reached into the ornate treasure box and retrieved the tightly-wound scroll, the ultimate prize for his efforts.

Looking from left to right, content that there wouldn't be anyone coming to disturb him, Ezio Auditore da Firenze unclasped the seal with its key and unwound the scroll.

"Now, let us see what secrets you hide, secrets that men would kill for..." his baritone voice echoed within the lair.

* * *

_My name is Marcus Junius Brutus._

_In order to save my city, I was forced to become its highest traitor._

_I was charged with wiping from existence its very icon, its dictator perpetuo and, now, its God._

_I knew exactly the consequences of my actions._

**_Chaos._**

**_Upheaval._**

**_Revolution._**

_I also knew exactly what I was fighting for._

**_Independence._**

**_Individuality._**

**_Freedom._**

_These are all fundamental rights that I would fight to the death for. I am all too close to doing so, I fear._

_My road has not been an easy one._

_My greatest enemy, the butcher of my family, became my most trusted mentor and my ultimate inspiration._

_I spat in the face of the very government I swore to obey and uphold._

_In the last decade alone, I have broken every oath and creed I swore my life to._

_All except one._

**_Sic semper Tyrannis._**

* * *

**A/N: Just a small taste to whet your appetite, my dear readers! The next update comes in a few days. Questions? Critiques? I'd be happy to answer.**

**Cheers!**

**-LCB**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hello again, everyone! Thank you to everyone who's already reviewed and followed. I am so excited to see some people already interested. I plan on updating it every several days.**

**Here is chapter 2! Enjoy! I do not own Assassin's Creed, that's Ubisoft.**

* * *

**Regium Lepidi, Italy**  
**59 BC**

"Where's my food, you little whelp?! Have you been trifling away all day?!"

A sigh blew itself from my nose as I hardened my frown and shook my head. His shouting pierced through every hall of the house.

He always becomes irate when he's hungry. You would think he'd be able to feed himself but, alas, he doesn't bear the conviction.

It feels like all I've done this past year is take care of the old man.

I hastily place the loaf of Lentaculum and steaming bowl of lentil soup on a wooden board and carry it from the kitchen, making my way to the room he never, ever moved from.

Some great war hero, indeed.

But as I push the door open with my backside, arms full, and turn around, I don't see the tyrant that voice should have belonged to.

I see a man much smaller than he should be, wizened by defeat and sorrow. Where his hair and beard had once been rich and dark, the color of grey now reigned. His skin had grown pale, almost yellowish. The sheets on his bed used to be white but are now browning from sweat and human filth.

I am certain I will be washing those very soon.

Guilt lumps in the back of my throat as I approach his bedside. Perhaps I am being too hard on him. His enemies and allies alike call this retirement, but I know he sees as it really is.

Imprisonment.

He is alone in life now, with me as his only caretaker. Perhaps my thoughts should be more merciful toward him.

As if he can hear my thoughts, his head snaps off the pillow and fixes me with a menacing glare.

"About time! Took you long enough!" He barks.

Then again, perhaps my father is simply a rather large ass.

"Forgive me, father." I placate, setting the board on top of his legs, the usual place he wants his food set. "The food's only now finished cooking."

"Let's see how you did today," he grumbles.

He snatches up the spoon, fills it with a helping of the soup and brings it to his lips. After a hard swallow, he bitterly scoffs.

"As tasteless as yesterday and every day before!"

He angrily grabs the loaf and tears into it like a ravenous wolf. I bite my lip, trying to hold back whatever venom my tongue wanted to spew.

"You look like you could use some air, father," I say without a hint of concern in my voice. "Allow me."

Looking more for an excuse not to face him, I cross to the only window in the room and throw it open, letting the cool afternoon breeze and warm sunlight soak itself around the stifling bedchamber.

Regium Lepidi was no Rome, for certain, but it did have its lovely springs.

"I swear to Jupiter, boy, you can be as useless as your whore of a mother." My father muttered between glutinous bites.

I froze where I stood, my stomach boiling. The heat of my blood pulsated within my head.

"Don't call her that, father." I blurt out before thinking, far too loudly at that.

The moment of silence in the aftermath of my effrontery couldn't be cleaved by the sharpest _gladius_.

"What did you just say to me, boy?" My father practically growled.

I slowly turned to face him, my eyes quickly swiveling over to the large wooden staff leaning on the side of the bed. I knew from personal experience how good he was with it.

"Forgive my rashness, father, but we don't know everything about what happened," I attempted to explain. "She could still come back."

"She's long gone, boy, most likely throat-deep onto every pair of _orcheis_ from here to Sparta," he snarled, every syllable laced with spit.

He grabbed the wooden staff. Every muscle in my body tensed from all too recent memories.

"Get out of here and make yourself useful," he coldly warned, his staring at me unyielding.

I couldn't bring myself to say anything else. I was enraged by his attitude, but too exhausted to stir up another confrontation with the man who helped give me life.

I simply nodded and excused myself from the room without another word, closing the door behind me.

My feet pounded the floor of the hall, my body's subconscious way of emptying the simmering rage from my heart.

I was angry over the words my father had said, but angered more by who he had become. To think I used to look up to the man.

He was nothing but a mere shell of the man who raised me. He had let hate and battle consume him and spit him back out, embracing the crumpled sack of flesh he now existed as.

I knew the best way to exercise my current demons. The oven wasn't going to clean itself, after all.

I grabbed the bit of cleaning wool near the foot of the oven and scooped less than a handful of sand from the bag resting right next to it. Positioning myself at the flue of the beehive-like structure, I rubbed the coarse grains into the black stains adorning its insides. With each hard pass back and forth across the metal surface, beads of sweat forming on my brow, I let the thoughts of my father cascade across my mind.

Once, he had been a great man, a strong man. He possessed conviction and morality. He was a stern but fair father and a dutiful husband, until the circumstances of his world no longer permitted him to be.

Until the fires of rebellion goaded him into making the greatest mistake of his life.

That mistake is ultimately why I, a 26-year-old man, was spending my days elbow-deep in ash and soot, cleaning his oven while he wastes away in bed. I suppose it was also why I haven't seen my mother in almost a year.

Standing up and dusting the filth from my hands, my task completed, I blew out a sigh and let my eyes travel across the house until they came to rest on the marble bust of a head perched atop an end table in the hall outside the kitchen.

Even though I've passed by it hundreds of times, I still find myself walking over to it and smiling as I read the inscription carved into its base.

_Marcus Junius Brutus  
Founder of Capua_

Happier times in his life, I'm sure. I wish I could hear him talk about them, but the only quality we now share is a name.

That and the _pugio_ currently strapped to my waist, a gift he had given me years ago, just as those fires were beginning to light.

"_In order for a man to know where he is going, he must first walk with conviction, Brutus. This will help you do just that, my son. Never send it from your side."_

I guess I still take his advice after all.

"AAAAARRRGGGHH!"

His shout rings loud in every corner of every hall in the house.

My head snaps back in the direction of his room. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end.

I draw my father's heirloom as I tear down the halls.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Here is another chapter, my dear readers! Thank you so much for your awesome feedback so far! The question has been brought up whether or not this story will have a modern story tied in as well. At the moment, I was planning on this being a purely historical Assassin's tale, but I have many ideas churning in my head. Who knows what will happen? Keep reading and find out!**

**Anywhoo, I do not own AC. Ubisoft does. Cheers!**

**-LCB**

* * *

**Regium Lepidi, Italy**  
**59 BC**

The terrible sounds of crashing and anguished grunting echo down the same halls I tear through, trying to reach his room.

The cries sounded nothing like all those other times he simply rolled out of bed. They were combined with the crashes of another's heavy steps.

I wrenched the door open, the horrors within now beholden to me.

There he stood, my father, the sick man, locked in a desperate brawl with a much taller, larger man. My father was holding the only weapon he possessed, his wooden staff, between him and his assailant. Both of their arms were latched onto the staff, my father's pushing away and his opponent's bearing down.

I could not tell who this attacker was or how he even got in, but it looked like he was dressed for battle. He had on a hitched-up white tunic which surrounded a chest of silver scale armor. His ensemble down to his heavy boots was that of any other _res militaris_, save for one very poignant feature.

A white beaked hood obscured his face. Only his clenched jaw and bared white teeth were visible to me.

Both their faces snapped to mine as I came through the door.

"Get out! Run!" My father yelled.

The hooded man smashed a boot into my father's shin. His stance buckled and the attacker wrenched the staff away.

"Your skills have dulled,_ traditore_," the assailant gruffly said, spitting a final word I didn't recognize.

I was shocked to see my father draw a _pugio_ of his own from beneath his bed clothes and lash out with a long swipe at the hooded man. The assailant deftly leapt back a mere hair away from my father's surprise strike.

I was frozen in the doorway. I could not even comprehend the blur that was exploding in front of me.

"I said get out! Run, boy, run!" My father yelled before taking another swipe at his attacker.

This time, the hooded man fluidly twisted his torso, avoiding the blade and snapping a hand out, grabbing my father's blade-wielding wrist and shooting his knee up, smashing it.

My father cried out and dropped his weapon. The hooded man sent a boot into his chest, sending him falling back onto his bed. In one swift motion, the assailant flicked his right hand back, causing a_ pugio _to seemingly slide out of his very wrist. He used that blade to stab down into my father's chest.

In that one singular terrifying moment, the blur became clear as the world came into a horrifying focus.

"No!"

The fear that was freezing my limbs was now melted by boiling rage.

I still had my_ pugio_ in my hand.

This man would now pay.

I ran up behind him. Just as he turned to face me, I slashed at his face. For all his show, he was not fast enough to avoid this and I drew blood down the side of his cheek, slashing the fabric of his hood.

He staggered back and cursed in a language I didn't know.

I stood poised to attack again until I saw him jump and felt a crashing force slamming into the side of my head. My face snapped to the side as I dropped my weapon and stumbled forward, grabbing onto the post of my father's bed as my skull burned and my vision swam.

I looked up to see a white blur draw closer. A second merciless impact slammed under my chin, snapping my neck up and buckling my jaw.

I couldn't even feel my grip relinquishing from the bedpost.

I saw only the blur of the ceiling as I lay on the floor.

While my world spun in a haze, I heard voices, like echoes, resonating all around me.

"_You betrayed your people and your city, Brutus. Time to atone and tell me where it is."_

The next sound was a strangled, gurgling cough.

"_I don't….know what you're talking about."_

"_Liar! Just one more deception piled onto the foundation you've laid. Where are they hiding it?!"_

"_They….they told me about you."_

"_WHERE. IS. IT?!"_

"…_.even if I wanted to tell…I don't know."_

"_You were one of them! You know where it is!"_

"_They….they promised me weapons….promised me men….promised me victory…."_

"_You will tell me NOW!"_

"_I was….just a pawn…."_

All I heard next was more cursing in a foreign language after that.

My swirling world of haze was beginning to come back into focus. I blinked and blinked, trying to clear my head.

Just as clarity began dawning and I scooted back up on my elbows, the assailant planted his boot on my chest, pinning me to the floor.

There he was standing over me, his face bleeding from a long cut down the side of his cheek.

Though I had slashed his hood near its beak, it still concealed most of his face.

All except for his flaring nostrils and baring teeth.

"Stay down, you sniveling _bambino_," he growled. "If I wasn't on strict orders...I'd kill you where you lie."

"You killed my father!" I croaked, still gathering my bearings. "I'll kill you!"

I grabbed his leg with both hands and tried to pull him down, but he bucked it free and, once again, the toe of a hard boot smashed into my temple.

I rolled onto my side as splitting pain roared in my head. The darkness that threatened a long sleep was closing in. I forced my mind to savagely beat it back, to stay conscious.

I couldn't let him get away with killing my father.

I wouldn't.

I reached out and planted my palm on the cold floor, slowly pushing myself up from the ground and turning to face the murderer.

But when I looked up, he had vanished.

I hastily got back up on my feet and looked from left to right. There was no sign of him.

I rushed to my father's side, but his eyes were closed and his body still. Not one breath was departing his mouth. All that was leaving were small rivers of blood pooling into the dirty bed sheets from the wound in his chest. I bit my lip and hung my head, trying to stop the tears, but it was no use. A dry heave burst from my chest as hot streaks slid down my cheeks.

A cool breeze kissing the back of my neck put my grieving at a standstill. I suddenly became very, very aware of the answer to my burning questions.

And it was absolutely horrifying.

I turned to see the open window in the room, the only gateway from my father's bedchamber to all of Regium Lepidi.

The only way he could have gotten in.

The window I had left open.

This was all my fault.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Hello again, dear readers! Here is another chapter in our adventure! I apologize if it's shorter. The action will pick up more once I have established Brutus in his new life. Thank you for all the reviews and follows! As always, tell me what you think! Ubisoft owns Assassin's Creed.**

* * *

**Rome, Italy**

**59 BC**

The portly man in his white, bordered toga flipped through his stack of papyrus papers in front of me. He couldn't know that their every sharp rustle may as well be a stab to my gut.

"I don't foresee any issues with your re-application for citizenship," his gravelly voice explained, casting his beady black eyes up to me. "There will be, however, a few caveats."

I nodded respectfully. I was just fine with caveats. All I had currently was the tunic on my back and the essential contents of the small bag slung over my shoulder.

"According to our records, your father is dead, as is your uncle, leaving no immediate head of household for you to fall under."

I wished the official would speak more quietly. Even though we were in a large hall filled with the official Roman business of hundreds of people bustling around us, I would rather not have the filth of my family aired out for all to hear.

"However, you are of age," the wretched official continued to drone. "You just don't have any citizenship."

"I am prepared to do whatever must be done," I mustered as humbly as I could, bowing my head.

"That won't be necessary."

My stomach nearly dropped out of my body. Was I about to be rejected outright? What had I done wrong?

The official must have seen the look on my face. He smiled knowingly and rifled through a few more papers.

"Our records show that upon his death this year, your uncle adopted you in his will," he explained.

Uncle Quintus adopted me? How is that possible? No one ever told me, not mother nor father. Granted, they had both been alive until very recently. I hadn't the need to be adopted.

"As long as you submit to the adoption, take his name and sign the proper papers, as of tonight you will officially be _Cives Romani_, with all the rights it entails," the official said, fixing me with an expectant glance. "_Ius suffragiorum_, _honorum_, _commercii_, everything."

I must have looked very stupid to the official. I was flabbergasted, prepared to enter this hall on my hands and knees, begging for citizenship to the very city I was born in. Instead, I was handed this very unexpected, but very, very welcome revelation.

I was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Yes! Yes! Absolutely!" I blurted. "I'll sign wherever you need!"

The official pointed with his pudgy finger at several blank lines and I signed them each quickly. Satisfied, the official rolled up the papyrus and gave me a curt nod.

"Very well. Welcome back to Rome, Quintus Servilius Caepio Brutus," he said, handing me my new papers.

I took the papers from his hand slowly, almost solemnly, as my new name sunk in. My name would now be my uncle's name, along with the _cognomer_ of my father's. It didn't sound right at first. Still, beggars can't be choosers. I would get used to it in time.

"There is one more item to take care of," the official added, scratching his balding head. "Your inheritance."

"My...inheritance?" I ask timidly.

"Indeed. Your uncle left you a good sum," the official confirmed, now looking down around him.

"Ah! Here it is."

He pulled out a small, burlap bag from behind his desk. The bulge at its bottom and the sounds of its jingling movement were unmistakable.

"Or at least it's enough to put you up for a time until you find a suitable occupation. It's all yours."

He fixed me with a dubious look as I took the bag from him.

"I would highly recommend spending it wisely," he told me, although it sounded more like warning me.

* * *

With my bag of possessions now containing my citizenship papers and all the gold to my name, I stepped out from the hall into the crisp, cool air of the Roman night.

I had to admit, despite my circumstances, it was indeed good to be back in Rome.

There's just something about the elegant, pristine architecture of her buildings. They were colored such a bright white, it shone even in the darkest night.

No building was ever just a building, either, for within so many walls stood the carvings of the faces and stories of legend. They were built into the foundation of Rome's structures, built into its very history.

I stood still and admired the stone faces of the figures perched atop the towering Arcus Titi right in front of me. The great conqueror standing triumphantly in his chariot, pulled by four magnificent steeds. Two brave soldiers flanked his victorious ride.

The arch's inscription below its figures was just as inspiring as it addressed all of Rome with its message:

_Senators...People...and Romans._

_"Kalispera!"_

My eyes were torn away from the stone words as a couple passed by me, nodding their heads in friendly greeting.

_"Ah...Ka...Kalispera!"_

My awkward attempt at a response only garnered worried laughs from them as they hastily made off further away from me.

There was that familiar sinking feeling again. Just like that, the spell of my home faded away and I became very, very aware of exactly where I was.

The city I was born in.

The city I grew up in.

The city I just had to re-apply for citizenship in.

It is a hard realization to accept, being a stranger in your own home.

I guess that comes with the territory of being descended from traitors. I never asked my father to go against Rome, to rebel against her leadership. Then again, children rarely get a say in the affairs of their parents.

I stop again in front of one of a myriad of spurting, cascading fountains across the face of Rome. I needed to collect myself. Staring at water helps me. It calms me.

The man looking back at me in the surface of the water is not one I recognize. I ran a hand through my short, curly black hair and stared emotionlessly into my reflection. I see the circles under my eyes, the drooping of my eyelids over my blue irises.

Yes, I was tired. I was weary, but not the kind that can be solved with rest.

This weariness ached in my very bones. I very much looked the part of a young man who just lost what little family he had left a week ago.

But, I remembered, I was getting a second chance now.

Jupiter rain his blessings down upon my uncle. He lived just long enough to see the ultimate degradation of my family, capped off with his sister leaving my father and I to our fates.

Wherever his soul rests now, I hope he is spared Pluto's punishments.

My eyes swivel to the stone ground beneath my feet. Spotting a small pebble, I reach down, pick it up, and cast it into the fountain.

Let those ripples dispel who I once was, giving way to who I can become.

My father may have failed Rome, but I will not.


	5. Chapter 5

**Nicosia, Republic of Cyprus**  
**58 BC**

Each breath I took in was a cool, calming breeze coursing through my body. The air felt so crisp and smelled wet and clean. They were some of the most aromatic breaths I'd ever taken.

You would think after spending half a year in a place, such simple things would be commonplace to me now, but not a day goes by when I don't cherish these moments.

As I stare out from the white marble balcony of Cato's estate, my eyes are treated to a feast of beauty. Green palm trees conducted their subtle dances. The long, thin fringes of their leaves bobbed and wove to each passing breeze. Hundreds of people milled about the cobblestone streets below. They carried their wares in their arms or on carts. They conversed in groups of three or even more, or simply bustled by one another, eager to arrive to this destination or that.

In the midst of all that activity, I wonder if any of them stop to admire the rich, green grass or silky smoothness of the deep blue sky surrounding their island.

Cyprus was no Rome, for sure, but these people were indeed spoiled.

"Daydreaming again, Quintus?"

I blink, pulling myself from my thoughts and turning to see the origin of the voice behind me.

The voice belonged to none other than Porcia Catonis, Cato's daughter. She smiled at me as she walks over.

I return the smile, nodding my head to her.

"Just admiring the Nicosian hustle and bustle," I said simply.

She laughed and shook her head, shining that smile of hers my way.

"You've been here how long now, Quintus? You've seen the island dozens upon dozens of times!"

I regard her teasingly, leaning my elbow on the balcony's lip.

"You islanders are so spoiled! Look at this beauty all around you! Do you never stop to take it all in?"

"Oh? Spoiled, am I?" She challenged, leaning both her elbows in the balcony, right beside me, smiling up at me.

"I shall dutifully inform my father you're calling me names again."

"I'm certain he'd agree with me," I playfully countered.

Over the past few months, Porcia and I had grown close. She was a mere 15 years old, twelve years my junior, but she was remarkably intelligent and eloquent for her age. As an assistant to her father, I saw much of her and she me.

She was also remarkably beautiful for her age. The rays of the island sun had done more than kissed her skin, leaving it a smooth, beautiful tan, which her long, curly dark hair and brown eyes only complemented.

It was no secret she had a handful of suitors in Cyprus, a fact that seemed to annoy her greatly. I had seen her reject some of her many potential lovers in such a way that not only left them humiliated, but utterly emasculated. She would send some from Cato's estate in hysterical tears.

Porcia was a formidable young woman. That much was for certain. I was determined never to cross her, both out of respect for her father and out of fondness for her.

"How is your father? Have I strayed too long?" I ask her.

She smiled at me again, but shook her head, staring out at the view of the island.

"He's locked away in his office, undoubtedly conducting some important business or other," she replied in a bored way.

I squinted at her, the wheels in my mind turning. A closed-door meeting that I was not aware of? If I was, I wouldn't have taken this moment of solace on the balcony.

"I didn't know he had a scheduled meeting…." I said

Porcia laughed lightly again and poked me in the shoulder.

"Awww. Quintus is upset because he's not in father's secret club?" she teased me.

I scoffed. "I am not nearly so vain, Porcia. I just hope everything's alright."

Porcia pushed herself off the balcony and fixed me with her shimmering dark eyes.

"I hope you know how much I appreciate your concern for my father, but I promise, he can handle himself."

She gave me a grateful smile.

"You really need to learn to relax, Quintus," she said.

I chuckled.

"_True law is right reason_," I said, beginning our usual game. "_It is constant and eternal_."

She arched an eyebrow, aiming a coy smile up at me.

"Oh, is that how you want to play?" She said surreptitiously. "Very well."

She leaned back on the balcony again, taking a moment to think. The cool breeze brushed a sinewy lock of dark hair over her forehead as the right answer dawned in her eyes.

"_It is impossible that the divine mind can exist in a state devoid of reason," _she stated effortlessly, as if she was delivering a speech before the Senate._ "And divine reason must necessarily be possessed of power to determine what is virtuous…..and what is vicious_," she ended with a wink.

I crossed my arms, chuckling.

"Cicero did not say that," I chided her.

"He did so!" she huffed with a smile.

"Well, I've never read it," I stated stubbornly.

She closed her eyes and brushed the strand of hair away from her face. She opened them again and looked at me slyly.

"Well, clearly you need to familiarize yourself with his work," she teased.

"Out! Out with you now!" A scream burst out from within the estate.

My head snapped to the doorway leading into the estate from the balcony. That was Cato's voice.

I turned to Porcia, who had a worried look of her own in her eyes.

"Go," she said quickly. "I'll be right behind you!"

I dashed from the edge of the balcony, tearing into the estate with my hand over my _pugio_ on my waist. Just as I was coming up on the large mahogany door to Cato's office, it swung open, my face missing a crashing impact with it by a hair.

A Roman messenger in a bordered tunic came tumbling out of the office, with Cato in hot pursuit, his eyes locked in a blazing glare. His normally lighter skin was quickly turning a shade of red.

"Out with you now!" He bellowed, aiming an accusatory finger at the messenger. "Out with you or I'll hurl you from the window myself!"

"But….but Governor Cato!" The man spluttered, frantically getting to his feet. "I was only trying to-"

"Trying to corrupt my administration with filthy bribes!" Cato thundered. "As if I am some greedy glutton! You may have found your business favorable elsewhere, but NOT IN CYPRUS!"

Cato bellowed the last few words, making the messenger practically shiver where he stood.

"I believe it's time for you to go," I stated assertively but not threateningly to the messenger.

"How you go is of your own accord!" Cato continued, still advancing upon him while he slinked further away.

"You can either leave on your own volition or be forced out on someone else's!"

At that comment, the messenger turned and fled from the governor, down the hall, around the corner and out of sight.

"Are you alright, Governor Cato?" I asked, now focusing my attention on him.

He cradled his forehead in his hand, slowly shaking it.

"Yes, yes, Quintus, I'm fine. Just rattled is all."

"Father! Father! What happened?!" Porcia yelled, running up behind me.

Cato gave her a weary smile. "Nothing that Quintus and I couldn't handle, my dear. I am quite alright."

Porcia calmed herself and gave me an appreciative nod, mouthing a "Thank you."

"Quintus, I need to see you in my office," Cato said, turning around to head back. "Porcia, my dear, don't wander. I will need you right after him."

"Yes, father," she said, giving my shoulder a friendly squeeze as I followed after Cato.

Marcus Porcius Cato Uticensis was a good man, an ethical man. At ten years my senior, he was tall and broad-shoulders, with tousled brown hair falling over his forehead. Perhaps his most distinguishing features were his eyes, a piercing green that defied the circles under his eyes and the weary drooping of his eyelids.

No one ever said being the governor of an island Republic was an easy job, but he stuck to his philosophies and convictions like a lioness defends her cubs. That was one of the main reasons I signed on to his service.

In six months, I had gotten nowhere in Rome. My city was not being kind to me. Then again, the only previous job experience I had at the time was being caretaker to a very old, very bitter man. Cato had found me in rather inauspicious circumstances outside the Roman Senate.

_"A young man like yourself has no business standing around, idling," he said to me. "What are you doing here?"_

_ "I am….ah….looking for work."_

_ "And you'll think you'll find it here?"_

_ "I am hoping, yes," I replied._

_ "Are you a man of ethics and virtue?" He suddenly asked._

_ "I….believe so."_

_ "Not good enough. Will you stand by your convictions no matter how much adversity they bring you?"_

_ "Y-yes."_

_ He then smiled._

_ "I believe you. You're in luck. I have work for you."_

Six months later, here I was, separated from my city but standing on my own two feet, inside Cato's office. He slumped behind his desk and put his head in his hands.

"How can I help you, Governor?" I ask, concern for him welling up in my gut.

"If you can keep Caesar's greedy hands from our shores, that would be much appreciated," Cato tiredly stated into his hands.

I regarded Cato carefully. It was no secret he held no love for Rome's current _consul_, but I was unaware of this new development.

"What does he want, sir?" I asked.

"To seize up as much land as possible for Pompey's veterans, as if we have so much land to spare!" Cato stated, throwing his hands up in the air.

But, as quickly as his new outburst arrived, he quickly waved it off.

"But not to worry about that, Quintus, I will sort it out myself, even if I have to talk the Senate's ears off all night long."

"A filibuster?" I asked.

"If it comes to that, yes," he replied. "But that is not the reason I called you here."

Cato nodded to an ornate metal box sitting on the corner of his desk.

"This arrived for you today," he said.

I regarded the good-sized square box with piqued curiosity. I never received mail.

"That's for me?"

"Yes," Cato said, giving me a smile and a nod. "And it bears the seal of Rome, so I would highly recommend opening it."

Then Cato held up a hand.

"In the privacy of your own time. As a matter of fact, take the rest of the day off," he said.

"Oh no, I couldn't-"

"Yes, you can," Cato defiantly said. "The day is neatly over and I have an important matter to discuss with Porcia….which I predict will take a great deal of time."

I hesitated for another moment, still not sure what the box contained. Under Cato's expectant stare, I picked it up and nodded to him.

"Thank you, Governor. I will see you again in the morning."

* * *

As the official assistant to Cato, he was kind enough to let me stay in my own room in his expansive estate. Once I settled in, I set the box on the edge of my bed.

I just stared at it for a good few moments. For the life of me, I still could not fathom what could possibly be sent to me from Rome.

But, I would never know until I opened it.

With that in mind, I gingerly pressed my fingers to the edges of the box's lid and lifted, exposing its contents before my eyes.

But all that sat within the box was a leather bracer and a small, folded piece of papyrus. Assuming that was a note explaining the package, I picked it up and opened it.

It bore the seal of Rome at the bottom, but the words of the letter were written in far less formal terms:

_To Marcus Junius Brutus,_

_ It has taken a long time, far too long of a time, to settle the estate of your father, but it has now been finished._

_ This heirloom was discovered in your father's house. I found it only fitting that it should find its way back to you. Again, I apologize for the great length of time in which it took. It was hard to locate you with your new adopted name and transferal to Cyprus._

_ I hope this package and note finds you well, Brutus._

_ With highest regard,_

_ Pompey_

My eyes were frozen to the letter. From Pompey?! How could this be?! A Roman 'war hero' who butchered my father's armies, sending him to defeat and spiraling depression, was sending me an apparent heirloom from my family? My father was killed a year ago! Why now?

I looked down at the leather bracer. It looked like any other typically worn by any _res militaris._ Why would my father be holding on to such a thing?

I took the bracer into my hands and brought it up to my face, examining it. There was a strange insignia printed onto it, but I could not decipher its meaning.

This was too much. I hated Pompey for this. It was bad enough he had to ruin my family. Now, he was choosing to haunt me with the memory of my father and puzzles that I could not solve.

He was truly a wretched, evil man and I have no use for his games.

I threw the bracer onto my desk. The instant it hit the surface, the bracer came to life. A small _pugio_ shot out from inside it, as if springing to attack.

I practically fell back on my rear, trying to get away from the device.

I had seen it before.

The same type of weapon used to kill my father.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Merry Christmas, my dear readers! I hope you enjoy this next chapter with some more action heating up!**

**Also, I had a thought. If any of you would like numbered notations next to specific historical names or terms I use with an index at the bottom explaining what and who they are, just let me know in a review and I'll add those in! I just wanted to gauge the interest first.**

**I do not own Assassin's Creed. Ubisoft does.**

**Cheers!**

**-LCB**

* * *

**Nicosia, Republic of Cyprus**  
**58 BC**

I swished my glass of _Mulsum_ around and around, my mind a million miles away from the party I was currently attending.

The voices of hundreds of partygoers around me had long faded into a muffled din, indiscernible and incomprehensible to my mind muddled in deep thought.

The horrifying image of the item Pompey had sent me haunted every single one of my dreams all throughout last night. Even to this moment, I could not figure out why that concealed blade would be any sort of heirloom of my father's. It was the exact weapon that ended my father's life, for Jupiter's sake!

What did it all mean?

Why did my father have one?

Was Pompey even telling the truth in that note?

Why would he send me that?

Who was that damned hooded man who destroyed the last bit of family I had left?

"And I thought I was a stick in the mud at parties."

I shook my head, once again snapped out of a sequence of deep thought. Turning, I saw Governor Cato walking up behind me, his own glass of wine in hand.

"Oh, excuse me, Governor," I stammer, getting my mental bearings back. "I didn't notice you were there."

"I'd wager you weren't noticing much of anything," the governor chuckled, gently clapping me on the back. "With the way you daydream, I would be surprised if anything on this green earth got through to you."

Chastised, I pressed my lips together and let a sigh escape my lips. I swished my wine around in the glass again.

"Forgive me, governor, I meant no offense," I explain.

"No offense at all, Quintus, I just worry about you is all."

Cato stretched out his arms, wine glass and all, gesturing toward the dark night sky stretching on and on from the same balcony I frequented. The absolute blackness in the sky was a sharp contrast to the party below, where dozens upon dozens of hanging oil lamps lit up the courtyard surrounding the governor's grape fields.

"It's _Poplifugia_, for Jupiter's sake!" Cato insisted.

"Here we are, with every intent to enjoy the fruits of our bountiful grape harvest this year, and you're hardly touching your wine!"

As if in a desire to satisfy him, I took a sip of my wine. It was delicately sweet, with the rich taste of honey infused in the grapes.

"It is indeed delectable, governor," I deadpan.

Cato sighed gruffly. He turned to me, leaning on the balcony's lip.

"What troubles you, Quintus?" He entreated. "You haven't been the same since I last saw you yesterday."

I didn't know what to say. How do I explain all the emotions and thoughts coursing through my every nerve? How could I put that into words?

Not satisfied with my silence, Cato fixed me with an even harder stare.

"Was it something in that package?" he asked. "What did our Roman overlords send you to make you this contrite?"

I didn't feel right lying to Cato. However, I didn't feel like he needed to know the complete truth.

"Rome settled my father's estate. It was an heirloom of his they restored to me," I said, still with hardly any emotion gracing my words.

"Seeing it just….brought to life memories of long ago."

Cato blew a sigh from his nose and turned away from me, now leaning both of his elbows on the balcony. I watched him take a good swig from his wine glass.

"Forgive me, Quintus," he finally said. "I shouldn't have done so much prying."

He then looked up, a thoughtful mask upon his face.

"Honestly, I'm not sure what I would do were I standing where you stand," he continued.

"After losing your family and becoming a wayward in the city that raised you, you finally have a chance for stability here and now these old ghosts are being dug up again," he said.

I had to admit, I was astonished at his deduction. It seemed like he could read my every emotion. Then again, one of the great qualities about Cato was his empathy for those serving under him.

"But I know you will overcome, Quintus," he then told me. "I have seen it for myself. You are a strong man, a smart man, a determined one. As long as you keep your mind and apply yourself, you will ascend to a place so much higher than this."

Cato sipped from his wine before continuing.

"You will be great, Quintus. There is no doubt in my mind."

I felt my eyebrows rising. I couldn't help but smile. This is exactly why I worked for this man. He saw the best in others.

"I….thank you, governor," I managed. "You are far too kind to me."

"Not at all," Cato said with a smile, clapping me on the back again. "Now, we are here to celebrate, so let us celebrate!"

"Quintus! Quintus!" someone shouted from below.

I looked down to see Porcia jumping and waving from the crowd below, looking straight up at me. She had a rather full wine glass clutched in her hand.

"Get yourself down here this very minute!" She laughed up at me before turning and disappearing into the throng of party guests.

I turned to Cato, whose face quickly sobered. He took another drink.

"If you could, Quintus, keep an eye on her tonight?" He tightly asked.

I looked back down at the crowd but she was gone. I turned back to him.

"Of course, governor," I said. "Is everything alright?"

Cato closed his eyes and cradled his temples in his free hand.

"Yesterday I handed her some news that she found….distasteful….to say the least. I fear she is rebelling against me at this party. I just need you to keep her in your care tonight, make sure she doesn't do anything rash."

I nodded to him, as resolutely as I could muster. It was the least I could do for all the support he's given me in the past. Besides, I began to worry about Porcia.

* * *

I found her down in the courtyard laughing and swaying to the music flowing from the _cornus_ and _citharas _of the band_. _A wine glass was still in her hand. In fact, wine was beginning to slosh out of her glass as she moved.

I was worried. Porcia has always been a very smart, brilliant girl for her age. This behavior was unusual for her.

She gave me a big smile as I walked up to her.

"It's about time you got down here!" she happily yelled over the music. "I was worried I'd have to celebrate on my own all night!"

"Are you feeling alright, Porcia?" I ask.

"Hehe, no, Quintus! I'm far from alright!" she said, strangely laughing.

Then she raised up her glass.

"Because my father is selling me to the highest bidder!" She screamed out far too loudly and too happily for such a statement.

She then downed her entire wine glass in one gulp. I had to step in and do something now.

"Alright, come on, let's get you out of the open," I say, gently taking her by her shoulders. I guide her away from the party and the many onlookers who had turned to watch the outburst.

I managed to get her away from the courtyard and into the grape fields. The tall, leafy bushes of grapes stood at least an inch taller than even my 5'11" frame. The world grew darker and darker all around us the farther we got from the party's lights.

Once we were a good fifty feet or so into the fields, where I could trust we'd be reasonably out of sight and earshot, she stopped in her tracks and turned to me, smiling up at me.

"Trying to get me alone, are you, Quintus?" she lazily crooned, giggling. "So scandalous! What would my father think?"

She then pressed herself closer into my chest, smiling up at me.

"Not that I'm complaining," she whispered.

If I could see my face and if it wasn't dark, I'm certain the redness in my cheeks would have shown. She was clearly a little more inebriated than she should be at her age. I gently pushed her at arm's length, but didn't let go of her shoulders, trying to steady her.

"Your father is worried about you, Porcia. He asked me to look after you," I said, trying to help her get a grip.

"Now, what was that outburst about back there?" I asked.

Her face immediately scrunched in anger. She tore herself away from my hands and turned away, hanging her head and sniffing once.

"I'm to be married, Quintus. Father is making the decision for me," she said softly.

That shocked me into silence. Married?

"Married to whom?" I asked, my voice breaking a bit out of shock.

Porcia sighed but turned to face me again, her dark, curly hair framing her bowed face.

"Marcus Calpurnius Bibulus," she deadpanned.

I nearly recoiled. "Bibulus? The politician?"

"More like the pig!" Porcia suddenly shouted. "He's a wretched man! For Jupiter's sake, he's past 40! But he's a political ally of father's against Caesar. That's the only reason this marriage is even happening!"

Right in front of me, Porcia put her face in her hands and began to sob.

"I'm just a….a bargaining chip!" She managed between tears.

Instinctively, before I could stop myself, I was holding her close, gently rubbing her back.

"Did you talk to your father? Tell him how undesirable this is for you?" I gently asked.

She scoffed bitterly. "He doesn't care! There's nothing I can do!"

I felt as though there was nothing I could say, so I didn't. Instead, I just held her in the dark of the grape fields and she held me.

It was short-lived. Porcia parted from me and shook her head slowly.

"Thank you, Quintus, for talking…..but I need to go," she said sadly.

"Are you sure?" I asked.

She closed her eyes and nodded.

"Yes, I just….I just need to be alone right now."

Then, in a move that nearly floored me, she stood up on her toes and placed a kiss on my cheek.

"Thank you," she whispered again, before quickly running from me through the fields, back out to the party.

All I could do was watch her. What she told me was nothing short of shocking. Still, the right of _patria potestas_ was clear. Even if I didn't like it, Cato had power over his daughter.

"She is pretty, _bambino_, but a mite too young for you, wouldn't you say?"

A shock shot up my spine. It felt like my whole body had gone rigid as an icy cold grip clamped itself over my heart.

I knew that voice. I'd heard it nearly every night for a year in my nightmares.

Slowly, I turned and saw him. He seemed to have materialized from out of nowhere in the grape fields.

The moonlight striking his form made his white toga and beaked hood shine in the night. Though most of his face was concealed by that hood, there was no mistaking the long, thin scar down his left cheek.

That was the scar I had given him the day he killed my father.

He gave me a sneer as he took a long swig from the wine glass he was holding.

"The wine is good," he said, chuckling. "Cato spares no expense."

"You!" I nearly shout, backing away a few steps, horror chilling my every joint.

"What are you doing here?!"

"Couldn't forget my face, could you?" he said, gesturing to the scar on his cheek.

"This is your work, after all."

"What do you want?!" I demanded.

The murderer tsked. "I just need you to come with me. Wiser men than I will decide your fate."

I let the year-long simmering anger inside me boil over. I had no idea why this killer was here plaguing me again, but I would not let him destroy my new life.

"Over my dead body," I growled at him.

"As much as I'd like that, I have my orders," the murderer replied.

In the next second, the hooded man flung his half-full wine glass straight at my face. I threw my chest forward and to the side, dodging the glass. When I looked up again, he was charging right for me. I ducked and threw my shoulder forward. He smashed into my shoulder, but I made him bowl over and hit the ground behind me.

Before I could react, he kicked my feet out from under me and I landed hard on my back, stars exploding in front of my eyes. A heavy boot came into my view and I rolled before it stomped down on my face. I drew my _pugio_ quickly and slashed at the murderer's leg, feeling it bite into his robes and possibly his skin.

The hooded assailant grunted in pain and a hard kick sank into my ribs. I cried out and tried to roll away again but a strong hand grabbed me by the back of my toga and hauled me up. In the speed of being lifted up, my _pugio_ slipped from my hand and fell.

Next thing I knew, a muscular forearm crashed against my windpipe.

I can't breathe. This murderer had me in a headlock and I can't breathe!

I thrashed against the killer, but he held me fast. His grip was like an iron vice.

"You're hard to find, _bambino_, I'll give you that," he whispered in my ear. He was so close to me now I could smell the stale sweat on his face.

"New name, new island, but once I tracked you down, you didn't even know I was here," he said.

"Now it's time to take a well-deserved nap."

Suddenly, the pressure on my throat changed. I didn't feel a crushing on my windpipe anymore, but I still couldn't breathe.

I felt the blood pumping into my face, hot and fierce. My heart beat began thundering in my chest.

All of a sudden, walls were closing in on my vision…..and there was nothing…..I could…..do…..


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Happy New Year to you all! I hope you all rang in 2014 wonderfully no matter where you were. I took a couple weeks for some much-needed R&R and now I am rested and raring to go! Here's another chapter!**

**By the way, mates, there are a lot of great AC fics going on right now! I know one I would make special mention of is RobStorm's AC:4 fic.**

**Check it out here:** s/9985530/1/Assassin-s-Creed-IV-Black-Flag-Retribution

**Now, on to Brutus!**

**I do not own Assassin's Creed. Ubisoft does.**

**Cheers!**

**-LCB**

* * *

Dark.

That's what my world was.

Dark and itchy.

It was beyond my comprehension.

I just knew that, as I tried turning my face, I felt the air itself scratching my cheek.

Air that smelled curiously like my own breath.

_"He's moving now. How long has he been out?"_

_"In and out for days, mentore. I kept him that way."_

_"I hope you did not permanently damage him."_

_"Compared to what I wanted to do, he'll thank me for this."_

Voices.

Mufffled, distant voices echoing all around me.

Where was I?

_"Get that bag off his head. Let him breathe,"_ the deeper of the two distant voices said.

A burst of light exploded all around me. I shut my eyes tight, welcoming the darkness inside my eyelids.

"Brutus? Brutus, can you understand me?"

The voice was suddenly much closer and far clearer.

I allowed the light to torture my eyes again, blinking and squinting, trying to clear the haze surrounding me.

The scene before me slowly came into focus.

A dark, plain room. The shine of candles everywhere served as the only illumination. A single man towered over me, arms crossed, clad in an all too familiar yet different array of clothing.

His face was shrodued by a hood as well, only this one was bright crimson, not white. An intricately-carved, brilliantly shining metal chestplate was draped in a bright crimson, gold-hemmed cape. The top of the chestplate was covered in brown and white fur.

It looked similar to the dress of my father's killer, but in a much grander fashion.

Though I could not see his eyes, I saw him smile.

"Welcome back to the land of the waking, Brutus," his deep voice intoned.

I then became aware that my arms were tightly bound behind me at the wrist, as were my feet at the ankle.

I was kneeling before this new hooded man, clearly not going anywhere.

Sensing another presence behind me, I turned to see none other than my father's killer, as if standing guard behind me.

I turned to face the crimson hood again.

"So there is more than one of you," I deadpan.

The towering man chuckled a low, booming laugh.

"A great deal more, Brutus, and we have been watching you."

"My name is Quintus," I muster with as much defiance as possible.

"In Rome's eyes, yes, it is," the crimson hood nodded. "But you cannot hide from your blood, Marcus Junius Brutus."

I felt the beats of my heart speeding up. They knew my true name. Of course they did. They must have been following me like a cursed shadow ever since they took my father from me.

"Where am I?" I demand.

"Somewhere safe," the crimson hood replied. "Somewhere...apart."

"I'm very close to the governor here," I threaten. "When he sees that I'm gone, he'll send his guards looking for me."

"Oh, without a doubt," the crimson hood said. "But I fear their search will prove fruitless, seeing as how you're in Rome."

Rome? How? I was in Cypress not minutes ago!

...Wasn't I?

"How long was I out?" I asked urgently.

"A good few days, I'm afraid."

Days?

Days had gone by since the night of the party?

By Jupiter, Cato must be worried for my life!

And Porcia...

"Who...who are you?" I shakily ask.

"You can call me...Magnus," the towering man replied.

He then gestured behind me.

"I believe you're already well-acquainted with Geminius," he said.

I turned to face my father's murderer once again. Hate boiled in my cheeks as he sneered down at me.

"So what are you, his lapdog?" I mock.

A sharp _shink_ pierced the room. His concealed pugio brandished in my face.

"Stand down, brother!" Magnus bellowed.

The murderer, Geminius, practically growled as his pugio retracted into his white sleeve.

"You'll have to forgive him, Brutus," Magnus told me. "His methods are rash, but his heart is true."

I whipped around to face Magnus.

"True to the cause of senseless murder!" I spat.

Magnus' head tilted, regarding me carefully.

"Senseless? In all the years I've known him, Geminius has scarcely done anything without sense."

"HE KILLED MY FATHER!"

A silence hung in the room after I screamed at Magnus. I felt the pain of hundreds of lonely, sleepless nights well up into my throat and lace every word with pain.

"Because of him, I have no family left!" I shout at Magnus.

"Actually, my dear boy, it's because of me," Magnus calmly said.

I squinted up at the crimson-hooded man, unable to say a word. He wasn't done talking, though.

"Geminius was merely acting on my orders," Magnus explained. "I ordered your father to be killed. It was something that needed to be done."

To my confusion, Magnus tilted his head downward ever so slightly, a sigh emanating from his mouth.

"I took no joy in making you an orphan, Brutus. You were innocent in all of this," he said. "I fear in doing what must be done, I may have also violated the rules of our brotherhood."

My teeth clenched together. I was nearly shaking with anger.

If only my hands and feet weren't bound.

"So you're a brotherhood of murderers," I venomously spit. "Is that it?"

That drew Magnus' head back up, looking directly down at me.

"On the contrary, Brutus. We are so much more," he said. "We are Assassins."

I scoffed.

"What's the difference?"

"Something that you, in your blind hatred, cannot understand...unfortunately."

That drew me back. Was that...was that sadness in Magnus' voice?

"You have my condolences, Brutus, believe me," Magnus continued. "But suffice it to say that your father was not the man you thought he was. He was no longer the man who raised you when you were young."

_How. Dare. He._

"For all his faults, my father was a good man," I menacingly hiss. "A good man whose world wouldn't allow him to be! Then you took his life!"

"He was an evil that needed to be blotted out! For the good of Rome!" Magnus bellowed.

I threw my body forward at Magnus. In hindsight, I don't know why I did that. My limbs were staying bound, no matter how hard I thrashed against my restraints. I wanted to kill Magnus, but all I did was flop around like a fish out of water.

A strong hand grabbed me by the back of my toga and hauled me back to my kneeling. A handful of my hair entered into a vice grip, my head being pulled back to face Geminius.

"Enough of your insolence, _bambino_! Show some respect or I'll end your miserable example of a life!"

I spit in his face.

He drew back and threw me to the ground, my nose smashing against the floor. Pain seared across my face. I heard more cursing in his foreign tongue.

"Brutus...I can see I won't be getting through to you," Magnus calmly spoke. "So...I shall get right down to why you are here tonight."

I was hauled back up, glaring up at the crimson-hooded man.

"Why is that, exactly?" I challenged.

"To open your eyes," Magnus replied.

I scoffed again, but Magnus wasted no more time. He withdrew an ornately-designed scroll from somehwere behind his cape and held it out.

"We need you to make one simple delivery. That is all." Magnus said.

I looked incredulously at the scroll, then back up to him.

"Why? Why me?" I asked.

"You are inconspicuous," he replied. "No one will devote anything longer than a moment's glance your way. That makes you the perfect candidate for a covert errand."

"Also," he continued. "There is something you need to see on this delivery. Something you must learn, in order for you to see the world as we see it."

I kept staring right up at Magnus. His hood shrouded his eyes. There was no way I could gauge his sincerity.

"And what if I refuse to do this?" I asked.

"Then you die."

I stopped breathing. I couldn't even blink. It was as if all sound had gone out of the room.

"I'll tell Geminius to slit your throat, right here, right now, and he will do it," Magnus casually stated, as if he was instructing someone to scrub the floor.

"Then, everything you are and everything you could ever be...will be gone," he concluded.

Horrified and still speechless, I looked down at the scroll again. It was such a simple object, yet my life was now placed on it.

I had never once been convinced I could trust either of these men. They could still kill me even if I said yes. I saw no safe passage out of this situation at all.

But...maybe I was approaching this the wrong way. They hadn't killed me yet. They had had more than enough opportunities to do so. I had been unconscious for days, apparently.

Still, they kept me alive.

They must need me to do this.

"If I do this, will you leave me alone for the remainder of my life?" I asked.

Magnus smiled again.

"If that is truly your wish, then yes, we will," he promised. "Deliver the scroll and consider it done."

He casually tapped the scroll on his side.

"However, I am confident that, once you have delivered the scroll, it is you who will be seeking out us next time."

I squinted at Magnus as he spoke those words. Clearly, this man was insane if he believed that.

"Very well. I'll do it."

An even bigger smile from Magnus.

"Excellent," he said.

He stepped forward and tucked the scroll inside the front of my toga.

"You will find your destination within the scroll's writings. Geminius will now see you to your next resting place."

Resting place? What did he mean?

Magnus began walking around me and then stopped. He slowly turned to face me again.

"I do feel the need to inform you," he began. "Geminius will be following you throughout your errand. You will not see him. You will not hear him. Should you betray us, either by disposing of the letter or revealing our whereabouts to anyone, he knows at least a dozen different ways to kill you."

With that, he continued his walk around me and out of my sight.

"Jupiter guide your steps, Brutus," he said from behind me.

At that, Geminius strode arrogantly in front of me, chuckling to himself and crackling his knuckles.

"I could just pull the bag over your head again...but I liked you better silent."

I knew what was coming next. All I could do was glare defiantly at him as he beared his fist down.


End file.
